


Inevitable

by Kemmasandi



Series: Flags [1]
Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Drabble, First Meetings, Gen, Orion has a hangover hehehe, Ratchet will fix that stat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-29 00:20:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kemmasandi/pseuds/Kemmasandi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orion Pax makes Ratchet's acquaintance thanks to a misaimed wrench.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inevitable

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written a while back for a first-meetings prompt on imagineyourOTP on tumblr. There were three of them, but this one's my favourite. <3

"Duck!"

Perhaps it was the overcharge processor ache pounding through Orion’s helm, perhaps it had simply been the warning not shouted quickly enough. Whichever it was, he didn’t hit the floor quickly enough - and a flying wrench smashed a new dent into his forehelm.

The wrench bounced off his forearm on the way to the floor. "Primus," he groaned, swaying on his pedes. "What was that for?"

The occupants of the waiting room - most of them his fellow overindulgers - winced in concert. 

"Ratchet, I’m guessin’," Jazz laughed, rubbing his own helm. "If it’s any consolation, he prolly wasn’t aimin’ for ya."

"And Ratchet is…?" Orion gingerly traced the outline of the dent - it was sizable, and deep too. Whoever’s arm had been behind it had some serious power in the cables.

"Head medic here," the queasy-looking minibot beside Orion’s chronicler friend put in, cracking one optic open the barest amount. "He’s a—well, looks like you’ll get to know him pretty soon."

A servo landed on Orion’s shoulder, pulling him around before he had the chance to query it.

The mech - medic - who’d grabbed him gave him a quick once-over, optics narrowing [in guilt, Orion rather suspected] at his dent. White and bright red-orange, larger than most medics Orion had met at around his own size. Broad-shouldered, with powerful arms - this must be the wrench-thrower.

"Hm," the medic said, frowning calculatingly. "At least it’s an easy repair. You’re on the waiting list?"

"Yes," Orion nodded. "Orion Pax, for an eight-forty-five appointment."

The medic grunted again. “It’s officially been bumped up as of now. Come; I’ll deal with that dent.”

He bent to retrieve the wrench, then turned as he rose, heading off across the waiting room for the exam-room corridor. Orion blinked after him, hand pressed to his dented helm, not entirely sure what had just happened.

"That’s Ratchet," the minibot sagely said. "You might want to do what he says."


End file.
